


A House Is Not A Home

by sherlockpotterlover



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, S2 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockpotterlover/pseuds/sherlockpotterlover
Summary: First and Foremost, Thank you to my wonderful friends for all the support you have given to me. I was so nervous to post this, as it is my very first time sharing my work with the public. You all have given me so much inspiration and love, and there are no amount of words to tell you how grateful I am that I have found all of you. <3This one shot was inspired by the song A House Is Not A Home. I recently fell back in love with it and as I was listening to it, I had this vision of John returning to 221B after The Fall, and it just wouldn’t leave my mind. There are two versions of the song that I love, but the one I used is the one I am linking below this, and it is by Luther Vandross. It a little lengthy, but it is beautiful. I hope you all enjoy it!https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGib6okEeZ4&index=4&t=0s&list=PLB6TvGChpGVrmeIg3y9OA45kMo1w5Y-jR





	A House Is Not A Home

**Author's Note:**

> First and Foremost, Thank you to my wonderful friends for all the support you have given to me. I was so nervous to post this, as it is my very first time sharing my work with the public. You all have given me so much inspiration and love, and there are no amount of words to tell you how grateful I am that I have found all of you. <3  
> This one shot was inspired by the song A House Is Not A Home. I recently fell back in love with it and as I was listening to it, I had this vision of John returning to 221B after The Fall, and it just wouldn’t leave my mind. There are two versions of the song that I love, but the one I used is the one I am linking below this, and it is by Luther Vandross. It a little lengthy, but it is beautiful. I hope you all enjoy it!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGib6okEeZ4&index=4&t=0s&list=PLB6TvGChpGVrmeIg3y9OA45kMo1w5Y-jR

The air was stale, cold now. Had it only been a few months? It felt like a century since he had stepped foot in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, and now more than ever, he wanted to run from it and never look back. Coming back for his things seemed like a good idea at the time. He needed a fresh start, needed to get away from the memories.

With a heavy heart, John tried to steady his hands, clasping them together, as he entered the dark room. It felt as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs, like he was drowning and trying desperately to get back up to the surface. Nothing had changed. Nothing had been moved. But nothing was the same. It was empty, lifeless. Every part of Sherlock was still there, lingering in every corner and on every surface, as if he wasn’t gone; and John found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he would return to the sound of Sherlock playing his violin, or setting some body part on fire, or even firing the gun at the wall. But it was still. The kind of still that told a thousand stories and made a person feel so completely and utterly  _alone_. And that’s just how he felt.

Alone.

 

> **_A chair is still a chair, even when there's no one sittin' there_ **
> 
> **_But a chair is not a house and a house is not a home_ **
> 
> **_When there's no one there to hold you tight_ **
> 
> **_And no one there you can kiss goodnight_ **

 

In those still moments, John tried to keep busy, thoughts always returning to the things he wish he had done. There had been so much left unsaid between them, and it seemed that every moment since that day, John wished he could go back and tell him everything. How much he loved him. How much he meant to him. To kiss him and finally express everything he felt for him. John wished for every moment with him; good, bad, and ugly. His heart ached for it, every second since that fateful day. It weighed heavy in his chest like an anchor, always keeping him down. Never letting him up. On the nights he was able to sleep, he dreamt of solving cases with him, eating take away together, and playing Cluedo, each sitting in their chairs. He wanted it all.

Heart clenching and eyes stinging, his fingers traced lightly over the back of Sherlock’s chair. Mere months ago, he had been sitting there; shouting insults at people on the telly and deducing the true father of a child, with his legs folded up against him and Belstaff cocooning him. He had looked like a petulant child, pouting for not getting their way. The mental picture made a shaky smile appear on John’s face. God, how he missed that, missed those domestic moments.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be together.  

 

> **_A room is a still a room, even when there's nothin' there but gloom_ **
> 
> **_But a room is not a house and a house is not a home_ **
> 
> **_When the two of us are far apart_ **
> 
> **_And one of us has a broken heart_ **

 

John turned to survey the rest of the room. Dust clung to every surface and every object. It was clear that even Mrs. Hudson couldn’t make herself come up, not yet at least, and John couldn’t blame her. He was everywhere, even when he wasn’t there; the gunshot holes left in the wall, the violin case set against the bookcase, Billy the Skull on the mantel.

He stopped at Billy, dusted him off gently, and held him in his hands. How many times had he seen Sherlock talking to Billy? Not many; often he prefered to talk to John, even when he wasn’t  _actually_ there, but from time to time, he would come home and see Sherlock pacing and talking a mile a minute with the Skull in hand, trying to work out whatever was happening in that genius head of his. He wondered if talking would help, even if it was to a skull, like Sherlock did. Of course, it wasn’t the same. This wasn’t just some case he needed to talk through to figure out the puzzle. This was his life, his everything. His own therapist had been trying to get him to open up and talk about everything, but it was too much to say out loud to himself, let alone to another person. But still, maybe he could...

 

> **_Now and then I call your name_ **
> 
> **_And suddenly your face appears_ **
> 
> **_But it's just a crazy game_ **
> 
> **_When it ends, it ends in tears_ **

 

John closed his eyes and took a deep breathe, setting Billy on the mantel before he spoke. “Sherlock…” John’s voice was rough and low, the name hanging in the air, like a thick fog. His hands clenched as his sides as he tried to make sense of the emotions he felt. “I am so angry with you Sherlock;  _so_ angry,” A pause, “but I miss you so much.”

For the first time since his fall, John let himself feel the hurt and pain he’d held back; tears finally spilling over. The anger and grief were warring with one another. He wanted so desperately to rage and rage over how Sherlock had left him, over how he had taken his own life, but the grief won out. He could learn to forgive, but he could never forget. “  _Christ_ , I miss you more than you could even know. I wish that you would have told me everything. I could have helped. But you are--” John stopped, his next breath short and shaky. “  _were_ , so stubborn. So above it all. But I guess that’s a little hypocritical of me to say, huh?” Suddenly the tension that had filled his body, drained from him and John shoulders slumped. “I should have told you a lot of things too.”

John paused, not knowing if he should continue. The idea of talking to someone who wasn’t even there made him feel like he was insane, despite the fact that he was alone. Did this really help? He shook his head, he needed to do this. If not for him, then for Sherlock. “I should have told you that I love you. You deserved to know that, and I’m so sorry that you never got to know Sherlock. You meant the world to me. You still do. And--” John’s voice cracked and a sob ripped through his throat. “I don't know how to move on from this! I don't know how I am supposed to be without you!”

 

> **_Darling, have a heart, don't let one mistake keep us apart_ ** **_  
> _ ** **_I'm not meant to live alone, turn this house into a home_ ** **_  
> _ ** **_When I climb the stairs and turn the key_ ** **_  
> _ ** **_Oh, please be there, sayin' that you're still in love with me_ **

 

The tears were coming harder and John found himself sinking to his knees. Was it possible to feel so much hurt at once? A tsunami of grief had sucked him under and he couldn't see which was was up. It was dizzying. The sobs that wracked his body were nothing he had ever experienced before and left him gasping for air. He didn't know how long he knelt there on the floor. It could have been day, months. Just when he thought he had everything he had ever wanted, it was ripped away from him, leaving him disoriented and confused. What had he done to deserve this? John took a few breaths, trying to calm himself; he needed Sherlock to hear him and he hoped to God that he was listening. “Please, Sherlock” John’s head fell back onto his shoulders and he looked to the ceiling. “Please, don't be dead. For me. Please, I need you  _._ ”  _I need you._

 

> **_Oh, please be there, still in love_ **
> 
> **_I said still in love_ **
> 
> **_Still in love with me_ **


End file.
